The Lady and the Knight (Highland Brides) (3 page)

It had started well enough. The weather had been warm and sunny. For two days they had traveled unmolested, singing songs and passing Thomas amongst the three women in the carriage.

Though Anne of Boneau seldom cared for the babe except to nurse him, she seemed attached to the child. She'd taken a liking to Sara's red plaid shawl and in a moment of playful sisterhood, they'd made an exchange—the plaid for the nursemaid's leather pouch.

Caroline had laughed as Sara stashed a few items into the bag, a needle, a few vials of herbs that Fiona had given her—her witchy concoctions as Caroline called them. Sara had laughed back and attached the pouch to her girdle, saying she now had all she needed to care for them in any eventuality.

Their comradery had lasted longer than the good weather.

The rain began midafternoon, slowing their progress. By evening they realized they would not reach the next inn before dusk. They'd been forced to spend the night in the wilds and they had prepared for that.

But nothing could have prepared them for the brigands. Nothing but the dreams that had awakened Sara. Even before the first sign of trouble, she had gathered Thomas into her arms. Frantic, and not knowing why, she had tried to warn the women. But Caroline was not in the tent and Anne only rolled over with a sleepy groan.

Sara scurried into the darkness.

From the woods she thought she heard Caroline giggle. She rushed toward the noise. Behind her, a guard shouted a warning. It was cut off mid-cry.

Terror streaked through her, accented by battle cries. There was nothing she could do but run.

Run and hide from the screams that ripped through the night.

By morning all was quiet. Sara slunk from her hole. Loyalty and uncertainty brought her back toward their camp.

She found Caroline lying on her side not far from the body of her favored guard. Dried blood soaked her bodice, but she still breathed and her eyes were strangely peaceful.

"You have Thomas." The words were no more than a whisper. "I knew you did, prayed you did.

Waited to make certain."

Sara reached for her, but the other woman shook her head.

"Let me talk. Just a few words left." She paused, fighting for breath. "Haldane."

Sara searched for meaning. "What?"

"Haldane's snake." She nodded weakly toward the ground not far from her hand. A black piece of metal lay there, wrought into the shape of an adder and broken off of a larger piece. "Sword...

sent..."

She spasmed, then relaxed.

"Caroline!" Sara gasped.

"Protect him," she whispered through stiffening lips. "From them."

"From who?"

"Promise me."

"I promise. I promise I will!" vowed Sara, but Caroline was already gone, slipping quietly into death.

The days since had been hideous, the nights terrifying. But somehow, miraculously, they had survived this long.

Twas only another wicked dream that haunted Sara now, and yet it seemed so real.

But there was no time to consider that now, for her dreams were eerily premonitory of late.

Perhaps they were warning her of some nearby evil. Or perhaps not.

Fear coiled in her belly. Sara pushed herself to her feet.

A noise rustled in the underbrush! Fear sharpened to terror. She spun away, but suddenly a brigand leaped from her nightmares. His face was dark, and in his hand he held the black blade from her dreams.

She screamed and yanked out her dirk.

He reached for her. She slashed. The blade skittered across his mail and sliced into his arm.

She heard his hiss of pain and drew back to strike again. But already he was behind her, one arm across her throat, the other grabbing her wrist.

She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She had to protect Thomas. But the grip on her arm was ungodly tight. Her fingers went numb and she dropped the dirk like a leaf to the forest floor.

"Do you wish to die now?" hissed the villain.

She shook her head jerkily, barely able to breathe. Fear froze her muscles. Her heart crashed against Thomas's sling-

"Move. And don't make a sound." He gave her a shove. Her legs buckled and she almost fell, but his hand on her arm held her up. They hurried through the woods. How had he found her? She had hidden them carefully and well. Why was he alone? Where were the others and where was he taking her?

She stumbled along for an eternity. A stream appeared before them. It was narrow and swift flowing. Behind it was a tangled mass of foliage, then a cliff that rose more than twenty feet above her head.

He pressed her into the water. It sloshed cold and rapid against her feet and soaked her gown.

They were across in a moment. He pushed her into the gorse bushes on the opposite side. The branches closed behind them. A root snared her foot. She stumbled again and he let her fall.

"Where are the others?" he asked, his eyes hard as obsidian and looking absolutely mad.

It took forever for her to find her voice, and when she did, it shook. "What others?"

He smiled. The expression was brittle. "Why did you kill them?"

She shook her head, trying to make sense of the madness.

"If all you wanted was the child, you could have let them live. Is it ransom you're after? Who sent you? Where are your accomplices?"

"Accomplices? I have none!"

"There's little reason to lie. Already I've killed one of them. I heard your cry. Tis what helped me find you. Did they think to cut you out of the profit? Is that why you screamed?" He leaned toward her, his teeth gritted in anger.

She cowered back. "Twas naught but a bad dream that haunted me!"

"Surely you can think of a better lie than that."

She scrambled to her feet, steadying the babe as she did so. "Tis not a lie. I swear tis true."

For a moment, he stared at her as if her brain was made of pudding. Then he turned back to scan the woods. "You must think me daft indeed," he said, then more softly, as if to himself, ' 'Where are her friends? And how many? Our backs are safe. They'll come straight at us. Are you hungry, Black Adder?" he asked, helfing his sword.

Fear mixed with hope. So there was someone out there, someone who could save her, she thought, but if they came for her, this man before her would surely slaughter them.

A rustle of noise sounded off to the side. Quick as thought, his right hand covered her mouth.

His attention snapped to the underbrush nearby. Above his mail shirt, the tendons in his dark throat stood out sharp and rigid.

Sara stared at him, unable to move for the fear that engulfed her. What was he afraid of? From whom was he hiding?

A fawn rose from its bed in the bracket and darted away.

The brigand released a heavy breath and dropped his hand from her. His eyes were slightly less wild.

She stumbled back a pace. "If ye let us go..." She paused, searching for the romanticized courage of the Highlander, the courage that had never been hers. "I will pay ye."

He narrowed his eyes. A scar slanted through the right corner of his lips, making it almost look as if he smiled. "Pay me?"

"Aye." She had seen him and his sword in her dreams—the sword with the snake wrapped about the hilt, the same metal viper that had lain so near Caroline as she lay dying. Whoever had killed her had carried the same type of weapon.

"And why would you pay me?" he asked.

"I have no wish to die."

He laughed. The sound was deep and humorless. It curled into her belly in new waves of terror.

"Why would I want to kill a pretty thing like you? Except of course that you're a murderer."

She shook her head, but knew her denial would do little good. "I'll give ye..." Her voice trembled and her knees felt as if they might spill her to the earth. What could she give him? In truth, she had nothing, nothing but... She moved her cloak aside with a trembling hand. The dragon amulet winked in an errant shaft of evening light. "I'll give ye Dragonheart."

His gaze pinned on the silver pendant that hung just above the square bodice of her tattered gown. He reached for it. She jerked shakily back, and he grinned—the expression a white slash against his dark skin.

"Tis a pretty bauble," he said.

"Bauble!" She tried to laugh, but the sound was raspy. "Tis far more than a bauble. Tis a magic token."

He tilted his head at her, still holding his dark sword. But its tip pointed down now. "Magic?"

"Aye. Twas made long ago when the earth was still young. Crafted by an all-powerful sorcerer, it was."

One corner of his mouth lifted, causing the fine scar on his lips to dance. He was laughing at her, letting her ramble on while he planned evil things. She had to escape! There was no hope of outrunning him, but she had stashed Caroline's knife inside her cloak. If she could only reach it, this time she wouldn't be so foolish as to stab at his protected chest, for his throat was exposed.

"Indeed," she said, forcing herself to concentrate, to keep her gaze on his eyes and not on the pulse that throbbed at the base of his broad jaw. ' 'If the pendant is freely given to ye, ye will have...

twice your usual strength and cunning. Surely that would be useful for a—for a man such as yourself."

The brigand lowered his gaze to his wounded arm. A muscle jumped angrily in his jaw, and when he raised his eyes they looked primitive and only half sane. "It seems a small scratch for one with twice her usual strength."

"Nay." She shook her head. "Ye dunna understand. Dragonheart does not give the same gifts to each person. It but enhances those ye already possess." The words were ridiculous, a blatant lie, and yet they seemed to come of their own accord. Perhaps if she blathered on, he would underestimate her, relax, and give her an opportunity to escape.

He took a step forward. Dear Lord, he was a big man. She would have no chance against him in a battle of strength. Surprise would be her only hope.

"And what gifts do you possess, pretty one?"

She stepped back an abbreviated pace, stumbled on the bushes behind her, and fell to a sitting position in the gorse. "Kindness." The single word sounded like a plea for mercy.

"Kindness!" he growled, and swung his sword wildly to the side. She cowered away, but he made no move to approach her. "I am surrounded by death. Is this an example of your kindness?'' he snarled and reached for her.

She shrieked in terror. Her hand whipped out holding the knife in her fist. She stabbed and the blade bit into the side of his neck. He roared in pain and stumbled back.

Sara scrambled away, clawing at the bushes as she ran. Branches grabbed her. Mud sucked at her feet. Waves dragged at her gown, but she was across the water and away, running wildly, her lungs burning.

Hide! She must hide! But already she could hear her pursuer, could hear his curses and rasping breath.

Dear God save her! She must not look back. He was closing in! She heard him grunt as he leaped, felt his fingers scrape her back, and suddenly she was snatched from her feet and crashed on the ground.

Thomas howled. She tried to steady him against her breast, tried to scramble away. But already the villain was atop her, pinning her down.

"A fine example of a woman's kindness!" he rasped.

Sara bucked against him, trying to break free, struggling for survival.

"Cease!" he ordered, pressing her to the earth. "Cease or I'll repay your kindness with your own brand."

Sara went still and found his eyes with her own. They were dark and enraged. Blood dripped from his neck and onto her gown. She swallowed the bile in her throat and closed her eyes. Fear tasted bitter and harsh. Death waited with hungry jaws.

"Please," she whispered. The word sounded small and pathetic to her own ears, but she was far past caring. "Spare us for mercy's sake."

"You dare beg for mercy! After what you have done?" he growled. She shut her eyes, certain death would come. But suddenly he stood up and yanked her to her feet.

She gasped, snapping her eyes open.

"I have no mercy," he said. "No more than you. Tell me, what kind of ransom did you think you would get for the child?"

"Ransom!"

He shook her. "Don't think me too kind to kill you here and now. Why did you take the babe?"

"I did no such thing. What do you mean? Who are you?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. A muscle jerked in his jaw. "I am Sir Boden Blackblade, come to return what is Lord Haldane's."

Haldane! She shook her head, trying to clear it, to make some sense of this nightmare. Had Lord Haldane sent this huge warrior to kill her? But why? It made no sense.

"Please let me go," she pleaded.

"Go?" He laughed. The noise sounded maniacal. "Tell me, have you ever seen a woman after the wild animals have gotten to her? With her face half gone?''

Sara scrunched her eyes shut and cowered away.

Blackblade tightened his grip and yanked her back toward him. "Tis not a sight for your pretty eyes. There was little enough left of them by the time I got there. Still, the signs were clear. The carriage had stopped before the brigands attacked. Why? Did they stop for
you?
Did you stand in the trail and feign some injury? Pretty as you are, you would have little trouble distracting the guards."

Releasing her arm, he ran a finger along her jaw. "But you would not be so comely if you were left to bleed to death in the woods."

She leaned away from him, terror knotting her stomach. "You're mad."

"Mayhap..." He paused, watching her eyes as he pulled a narrow blade from a sheath by his side. "And mayhap if you give me the names of the people involved in this crime I will not prolong your death. I've no stomach for torturing women."

"Please!" Her hands shook. She couldn't think, could barely stand. Was he accusing her of the murder of her friends? "I dunna know what you're talking about. I swear it."

He watched her, then glanced at the clearing again, his brow knotted in thought. A modicum of sanity shone in his eyes now. "Are you saying you had no part in the murders? That you knew nothing of their plan?"

"I've done no one any harm."